love. recovery. bad advice.

This is not an entry about the election, but rather the election season. Let me first just urge you to Vote! (Ladies, if it gives you a little more incentive, cute guys are always at the voting places! That’s why I vote anyway).

Anyway, like many of my kind, I was prescribed benzodiazepines for the debilitating anxiety I experienced pretty much every day when I was still drinking. The fright caused by an anxiety attack cannot be overstated. People throw it around very liberally, “I was sooo scared! I totally had an anxiety attack!”. I’m like, “Oh really? Did they lock you up against your will in the nut-house for it, too?”. So many people have similar stories about hang-over anxiety attacks that landed them in the ER. The first ER I went to just wouldn’t let me leave. They sent me to a glorified drunk tank (plants, sunshine, yoga, WHATever) for alkies and other colorful people with good insurance, a safe place for them to stay while they waited to go to some treatment facility, which was out of the question for me. Why the hell would they treat a heart attack at a rehab? I went to the ER because I was dying, not for whatever it was they were insinuating I had. I truly had no idea what I was doing there and was none too pleased about it. Ooo I was so pissed at my doctor. I got out of the hospital and called him immediately (immediately after finishing the lemon juice and vodka, that is – I was into lemondrops at the time) to scream at him. He screamed back that I am an alcoholic. I was stunned! What did he just say to ME?! I fired him that minute. The nerve on that quack – how dare! But that’s an entirely different story altogether.

I became fond of benzos. Some doctors, as you may know, over-prescribe benzos. I ate so many and still had plenty on reserve, and got into the alarmingly dangerous habit of occasionally taking way too many at once. I wasn’t trying to kill myself – it was just this kooky compulsion. So, one day, four years ago, I went with that compulsion, and woke up (luckily!) with this dull pain in my abdomen and a squishy blob so big I could feel it under my skin. I was like, “Ah shit. I’ve gone and done it this time!”. I went to the doctor… a month later. It’s funny in a sad and troubling way that, looking back, I panicked because I thought I caused physical damage from Ativan, but it never crossed my mind that I could have done any physical damage from alcohol. Denial may have spared me further anxiety – it served a purpose whether right or wrong, it was neither here nor there – that’s just how I rolled, homies. I was tempting death without realizing it, but, no worries, my body was just fine! Except for the shaking. And the vertigo. And the anxiety. And the hallucinations. Oh I Googled “brain damage” a zillion times – there was undeniably something very wrong with my brains in the clarity and perception departments – they were brittle and shaky to such distraction. There must be a reason for this condition. But what is it? What is it? What ever could it be!

Back to le lump… so, I finally took a couple of Ativan and went to the doctor and had a bunch of tests done. It turned out I had a Goodyear Blimp-sized cyst on my ovary. They remove cysts when they’re over 4cm and mine was 11cm. I do everything BIG! (<– said with jazz hands). So, they scheduled surgery for the next week or so. I wasn’t in pain – just grossed out that I had a grapefruit-sized cyst hanging off my grape-sized ovary. It’s all about fruit. But then the cyst, she twisted. PAIN. I was delirious with pain. I was in so much pain I didn’t know what to do and couldn’t figure out how to get to the ER or if I should even go to the ER, so I decided to pass out on the bathroom floor and worry about it later. Luckily again, I woke up in the morning and went right to the hospital. This was the day of the Sarah Palin – Joe Biden debate….

I spent the better part of that day delighting in a steady stream of morphine, tripping from Starlight to Moonville, on a rocket to The Fourth Dimension (name that musical). Surgery was moved up a few days, I was sent home with a pile of Percocet, and I made an ill-advised but predictable stop at the liquor store. At that time, exactly four years ago, there’s no way I could have watched 90 minutes of winking “you betcha!”s without being drugged, so I guess the twisted cyst had good timing. Now, I am having an extraordinarily hard time putting into words how I feel about Mrs. Palin without being judgmental. I had a visceral reaction to her, as many did, but my main horror was this: she’s AQUARIUS! Why oh why oh why oh why??? We’re supposed to be peaceful and humanitarian, unwavering in our demand for fairness and famous for our open-mindedness. Anyway, I don’t even remember that debate. What happened? Was it good? Four years later, another vice presidential debate. Again, my other boyfriend Joe Biden takes to the stage. This time I am cold stone sober as he debates Mr. Eyes Without a Face, who is also… AQUARIUS! At least these two didn’t get elected (see what I did there?). You know who else is Aquarius? DICK CHENEY! But so is Abraham Lincoln. Nelissa and I are also Aquarius, and we are both gentle and sensitive and patient. OK, I can’t say that with a straight face. Nelissa is these things – I’m working on it. Funny, I visited my friend “Dandelion” the other day, and she reminded me of the first time we hung out and exchanged phone numbers. The first text I sent her I threatened to kill her over my imaginary boyfriend – she showed me the text – she was not telling tales. I was totally kidding, of course, but she was skeptical, afraid I was a psychopath, and not the peaceful and gentle Aquarius I am meant to be, and that my cats can prove I am!

But back to planets and outer space, Aquarius are meant to be just wonderful astronauts. I think maybe I’ll mail a couple of astronaut school applications to some of the aforementioned vice presidential candidates. They can take a marvelous trip to the stars, take a break from Earth for a while. It will suit their Aquarian love of adventure.

Cara, you’re blog is getting funnier and funnier… thanks! I’m an Aquarian too, and am old enough to remember when “Age of Aquarius” was on the car radio… remember the radios that had chrome buttons that you could set to stations? Here’s another question of burning importance… did you know that infants have a sense of humor? Abner’s is silly… last week he picked up a bottle in each hand, stuck them both in his mouth, and grinned. Just goes to show that you’re connecting with your hilarious inner infant…